


Debt

by FettsOnTop (GTFF)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Life Debt, Prompt Fill, RebelBounty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 10:12:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18466852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GTFF/pseuds/FettsOnTop
Summary: Leia seeks revenge. With spreadsheets.The prompt was Captor/Captive + Spaceship + Hate





	Debt

He never expected to be rescued.

Somewhere beyond the ringing in his head, beyond the pain and disorientation, he accepted his fate. Here lies Boba Fett. Devoured by a sandworm.

Instead he woke up on a medical transport with a half dozen other survivors from Jabba’s barge. It was the princess. She sent a team in to find the injured and bury the dead. The same beings who jeered at her during her captivity now wept at her mercy.

While he was laying in a bacta tank the Emperor died during the rebel assault on the second Death Star and Vader died with him. The war went on.

And then one morning Boba woke up to find Leia Organa standing at the foot of his bed. Still as a statue, her hands folded primly.

There was no mercy in those unflinching eyes.

She turned to the med droid. “How much longer?”

“At least another week. He had two broken bones, three fractures and then there’s the toxic exposure to the sarlacc’s acids-”

“I’ll be back.”

Ten days later he was manacled to a table, his detention jumpsuit still creased from the packaging. The princess walked into the room, a holoprojector and a control in her hands. She laid them on the table and spread her hands flat on the surface, staring him down.

He expected a tirade. A lecture about his morality. Maybe she wanted to gloat, to rub his face in her victory. But the silence stretched on.

Usually he was the one looking down at a prisoner. Waiting for them to speak. To plead. To argue. They always did.

“What do you want from me?”

“Something you’ll understand.” She shifted her position, sitting on the edge of the table with her legs crossed. “I want to be _paid_.”

“For what?”

“When you took Han from me I spent months of my time and energy, not mention credits. I had to assume a considerable amount of personal risk, including being captured by a Hutt and paraded around like a trophy.”

He leaned forward. “No one made you steal from a hutt. You could have walked away.”

“I also could have left you to die slowly on Tatooine.” She spread her hand out on her knee and examined her nails. “But that just didn’t feel like adequate compensation.”

He kept his voice even in spite of the knot forming in his gut. “What would?”

She picked up the control and clicked it, bringing up a holographic spreadsheet. “In your world, everyone has a price on their head. I made a list of everyone who wants you dead and how much they’re willing to offer. Column A is the people who will pay for holo proof of your death. Easy money. Column B is people who want some part of your body as proof.” She clicked the control and a diagram of a human body appeared. “In this chart I’ve labeled what each part of your body is worth. There are also people who will only pay upon receipt of your corpse. That’s column C. The offers are good, but I can only choose one.”

He recognized many of the names on her list. Most of the contracts were posturing, prices they had no intention of paying for jobs that would never be done. He doubted the princess would accept that explanation though.

“Oh, and I originally had a Column D for anyone who might want you alive, but apparently there's no market for that." With a shrug she opened a new holograph, this one a graph. “Now If I combine Column A and Column B, the total comes out to slightly less than the highest offer in Column C, which would seem to simplify things. “ _Except_ ,” she said, holding up her index finger in anticipation of her point, “for the fact that third highest offer in Column C didn’t specify the condition of your corpse. Which means I can combine their offer with Column A and B and it comes to this.” She clicked one last time.

The total hovered in front of his face. The maximum total worth of his death and dismemberment.

“You’re multi-contracting,” he told her. “You can’t do that.”

“You collected from both Vader and Jabba when you ambushed us at Cloud City.”

“One contract was for a ship and its crew. The other was for Solo.”

“This contract is for a holo of your death and that one is for your tongue. I don’t see the difference.”

Boba leaned back in his chair as far as his chains would allow. “So why wait until I’m healthy? You could have killed me and cut me into pieces fresh out of the sarlacc pit.”

“I could have,” she agreed, gazing at her work. “There’s only one problem.” Her eyes shifted to his, bright and glittering like stars. “I’m not _scum_ like you.”

She slid off the table and collected the projector. “You owe me your life, Fett. And now that you know exactly how much your life is worth, you will repay every credit. Is that understood?”

She _hated_ him. At that moment, the feeling was mutual.

“Understood,” he said.

It was huge sum. But it wasn’t impossible. He was released the next day with his first assignment. An informant selling data to the Imperial remnant.

As soon it was completed, she sent him after bandits harassing a supply chain.

Then an arms dealer selling defective merchandise.

Every time he finished a job, he was summoned to a small ship to bear witness as she updated the record of his debt. She was always alone. “You’re so good at this,” she told him after he completed the seventh job. “It kind of makes me _angry_.”

He understood exactly how she felt.

Boba didn’t like being tethered. She kept his armor locked away. He didn’t like that either. She didn’t care what he liked. She told him so, in a burst of rare emotion.

“You’re right, you know,” he offered spitefully. “You’re not scum like me. You’re scum like Vader and Jabba and every other petty tyrant.”

She lifted her chin, her eyes blazing. “At least you’re not in a metal bikini, Fett.”

Every time he saw her she seemed paler and thinner. Having a won an improbable victory, the Rebel Alliance was strained to the point of breaking. New allies meant new problems. It wasn’t easy to restore a government while fighting a war.

He knew because the princess told him so. She told him a lot of things.  

Maybe she needed a captive audience.

The day she told him about Anakin Skywalker was the day he put it all together. Anakin Skywalker, her biological father. Also known as Darth Vader.

“You’re lucky you don’t have parents,” she muttered. It was the only time she’d ever mentioned the fact that he was a clone.

“I had a dad."

He didn't know why he told her that.

"You should give me a bonus," he told her after his twenty-seventh job. "You got your man  _and_ a new system route." 

"You're right," she said, and updated the spreadsheet. "Good job."

She wasn't the worst client he ever had. 

The dark circles under her eyes deepened, and her hands shook.

"Are you sick?" He asked bluntly. After thirty-two jobs, he figured they were past niceties. 

The princess shook her head. "I don't sleep much these days." She picked up the controller to update the spreadsheet and fumbled the small device. It bounced off the floor and rolled to a stop a few centimeters from his boot.

He picked it up.

It occurred to him, even as his arm extended, that this was the equivalent of giving his jailer back her keys. That was how accustomed he’d become to captivity.

Then her fingers curled around his. Touching her was like touching a live current between two power couplings. It turned his senses numb and left a metallic taste in his mouth. She looked up at him, her lips parted as she was going to speak, but she didn’t.

The control slipped free, from his grasp or hers, he couldn’t tell. Before it even struck the ground he was pulling her in and her hand was curling around the back of his neck. He wasn't expecting the sweetness of her mouth, or music of her ragged breathing in his ears. 

Here lies Boba Fett. Ravished by a princess on the floor of a spaceship.

He accepted his fate. 


End file.
